


Ripped To Shreds

by kwrites2222



Series: The Blood Witch [1]
Category: Supernatural
Genre: Death and loss, F/M, Ghosts, Slight Universe Diversion, Witches, demon lore, fictional lore, ghost lore, original lore, witch lore
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-06-13
Updated: 2016-07-13
Packaged: 2018-07-14 17:50:25
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death, Underage
Chapters: 4
Words: 5,980
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7184027
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/kwrites2222/pseuds/kwrites2222
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>*Read series description for overall summary and disclaimer*</p><p>Sam, Dean, and company get more than they bargained for when a mysterious woman comes into their lives. What begins as a routine hunt for a dangerous demon turns into something world-shattering for the Winchesters and those around them.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Dirty Deeds (Done Dirt Cheap)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

>  _She's a rebel_  
>  _She's a saint_  
>  _She's salt of the earth_  
>  _And she's dangerous_  
> 
>  
> 
> _She's a rebel_  
>  _Vigilante_  
>  _Missing link on the brink_  
>  _Of destruction_
> 
>  
> 
> \- Green Day, from 'She's a Rebel'

As the Impala roared to a stop in front of the quaint home in Washington, D.C., Dean looked over at Sam and sighed. His brother was straightening his tie uncomfortably and a pained expression was on his face. 

"You could have stayed back at the hotel, you know," Dean said. 

"I know," Sam replied, his hand instinctively rubbing the still-healing wound from where the werewolf had scratched him last week. 

They exited the car and began to walk up the stairs to the house, flashing their faux-FBI badges and ducking under the crime scene tape. Dean was feeling good: they'd been tracking one of the most powerful demons that they'd come across in a long time, and Castiel had gotten a tip about a series of odd murders in D.C. that had this particular demon written all over it. They were getting close to the bastard... Dean could feel it. 

A detective walked up them. "Can I help you boys?"

Dean flashed his badge again and nodded to Sam. "Agents Henley and Frey, FBI."

The detective sighed and rubbed his eyes, but held out his hand in a friendly way, "Detective Egan. Why are the Feds interested in this case? Is this some sort of international incident? I've already got that other agent in there now!"

Dean and Sam exchanged odd looks. 

"Sorry? We're not sure what you're talking about," Sam said. Dean felt his pulse start to pick up: if the FBI was actually on the case, then he and Sam could end up on the run from them... again, and that could seriously hinder their ability to finally take the demon out once and for all.

Detective Egan motioned for them to follow him towards one of the rooms towards the back of the house. As they entered the room, they saw a large, odd stain in the middle of the carpet, with blood spatter painting each wall... and ceiling. There was a faint smell of decomposing flesh in the room. Dean covered his mouth as the stench hit him, and then proceeded to look around the room.

Crouched over the large stain with her back to them was a small, red-headed woman in a black pantsuit and heels. She had rubber gloves on and was using tweezers to examine the carpet. She let out a loud sigh, and Dean could hear her mutter something to herself under her breath. 

"Ahem," Detective Egan cleared his throat. "Agent Shepard?"

The woman stood and turned to face them and Dean felt his heart rate pick up: she was beautiful. Her body curved in all the right places, and her red hair fell in waves around her face, framing it and bringing out the green in her eyes. She tilted her head to the side and her plush mouth twisted into a frown. 

"Let me guess," she said, crossing her arms, "FBI?"

The brothers nodded.

She rolled her eyes. "I was expecting you two. Agents Henley and Frey, I presume? What, they didn't trust me on this one?"

"Uh, no," Sam stammered, "we weren't expecting you... uh..."

"Shepard. Jill Shepard, CSIS. Thank you, Detective, I got this."

Egan bowed out of the room and gave Jill a small smile. 

Dean and Sam looked at each other warily, not knowing for sure if the woman was a hunter or not. She certainly looked official, and if she was law enforcement, then she'd figure them out in no time. It could spell real trouble for them. But there was something else about her that made Dean especially feel wary - he couldn't quite put his finger on it, but there was something in Jill's eyes that seemed as if it was reaching out and touching him. It was an oddly peaceful feeling, like his soul was comfortable, but it shook him deeply, too. Either way, he figured, this woman was trouble. 

"CSIS?" Sam finally asked. "As in the Canadian Secret Intelligence Service? What's your interest in this?"

Jill stepped by him and looked out the door and then stepped back in and faced them both, a smirk on her face. "I know who you are, Winchesters. And, I gotta say, I appreciate the assist on this one. I'm at my wit's end. I thought maybe wendigo at first, and then werewolf, but that was strike one and two for me..."

"Wait," Dean interrupted, "are you a hunter?"

Jill chuckled, "Oh, yeah, I am. Sorry; I should have explained myself first... I usually pose as CSIS as I've found that if you have Canadian credentials and look the part, no one really asks many questions. Especially not our friend Egan, there: he just let me right in."

"Uh, we'll keep that in mind," Sam said. "How'd you know who we are?"

She gave him a look, tilting her head and placing one hand on her hip. "Everyone knows who you are... well, every hunter does, anyways."

"And how'd you know we'd be posing as FBI agents?"

"Lucky guess. And I figured you'd use Henley and Frey since we're in D.C. and this is America so, you know, Eagles... I mean, that is your guys's schtick, right?" Jill answered, crouching down over the stain again. 

"You _do_ know who we are, then," Dean muttered, "care to bring us up to speed?"

"Meet Wesley Smith, a lawyer at a local firm here in the Capitol," Jill said, motioning towards the large stain on the floor.

"This is our vic? You mean what's left of him?" Sam asked. 

"No, this is him... just a little more... uh, torn to pieces and flattened," Jill said, standing up, "this is the third murder in three days. I got here after I heard about the first one. Like I said, I thought it might be wendigo or werewolf, but those leads didn't get me anywhere. Then this one today... I even searched the house or Tibetan ritual symbols or signs that this could be a tulpa or shape-shifter, but there's nothing. Absolutely nothing but this, uh, stain of what used to be a human."

"Did the victims have anything in common?" Sam asked. 

"Nothing," Jill shrugged, "except that they all became human puddles. Neighbours didn't hear or see anything, and family and friends didn't comment on any strange behaviour before the vics were killed. It's like they were murdered by the possessed spirit of Edward Scissorhands."

Dean and Sam didn't say anything, but gave each other knowing looks. 

"Yes, I know," Jill continued, "it's pathetic, but that's my best theory right now."

"It's not pathetic. You're not too far off on the possessed spirit theory," Dean said. 

"Ugh, great. What's possessing it? Demon?" Jill groaned.

"Yeah, and a powerful one. We've been tracking him for months," Dean answered, examining the blood spatter. 

"Which one? He must be a pretty big deal if he's able to possess a spirit to do... ugh, _that_ ," Jill gulped, swallowing hard as she looked back at the puddle. 

Sam gave her a wary look. "We... uh... can't say the name out loud."

"Why not? Who are you hunting? Beetlejuice? _Voldemort_?" Jill laughed. 

"Not far off," Dean dead panned. 

Suddenly, it seemed as if realization struck Jill and froze her to the spot. Her lovely green eyes widened and her lips parted slightly, her skin paling.

"Oh, no," she murmured, "not him. Not again."

Jill grabbed Sam's notebook and pen from his breast pocket and scribbled a name on the paper. She showed it to them and Dean's breath hitched as he recognized the name she'd scrawled: _ISHTMAR_. 

He nodded at her and her face fell.

Jill shook her head. "That's... not possible. I sent that bastard back to Hell. How did he get out?"


	2. When the Levee Breaks

**Notes for the Chapter:**

>  _“The only thing we have to fear is fear itself.”_  
>  \- Franklin D. Roosevelt

As they sat in the small diner, Dean noticed Jill's hands shake as the waitress handed her her third cup of coffee. 

"Uh... caffeine addiction?" Dean asked. 

Jill gave him a look through her eyelashes. "This has been a long job. I'm exhausted; I thought it was just another routine case, but now..."

She pulled her hand through her hair and sighed and then took a long sip of her coffee before pulling out a large notebook that reminded the brothers of their father’s old journal. She set it down on the table and began to rifle through it, her brow furrowed.

"I first encountered Ish... the demon some years ago when I was working with my partner, Davida. He had been possessing a number of young virgins and then waiting for hunters to come along and kill them as part of a ritual sacrifice to some god. Davida and I stopped him, but we didn't have a chance to exorcise him before he got away. I tracked him for a while and then gave up... until about eighteen months ago," Jill began, her eyes trained on one of the pages in her journal. Dean noticed that it was quite close to the beginning of the book, and then watched as Jill flipped towards the end of the journal. 

"And you're working alone now?" Sam asked. 

Jill ignored him, keeping her eyes on the paper, but Dean saw how they darkened slightly at the question, and he swore Jill winced. 

"Ah, here we go. Eighteen months ago... I was working a spirit case where it was reported that spirits were taking shape of people and posing as their reflections. People believed that they were being haunted by themselves, and then it ended with the victim dying in front of a mirror, their necks broken. Davida," Jill's voice broke on the name, "was haunted by one of these things. We eventually figured out that it was our friend influencing these ghosts and she volunteered as bait. Lured him out and trapped the son of a bitch in a devil's trap and exorcised him. Then we set the ghosts to rest."

Sam traded a worried look with Dean. "Where is your partner now?"

Jill closed her eyes and hung her head. "Dead. It’s not something I talk about."

"Fair enough," Sam said, shaking his head at Dean as Dean opened his mouth to ask more.

She ran her finger along the writing on the page, and her breath hitched as she read some words written in large capital letters. 

"What is it?" Dean asked.

Jill picked her head up and her green eyes stared into his. "This... all this... it's not a coincidence. It's a trap."

"What the hell do you mean?" Dean asked again.

"The last thing the demon said to me before I sent him back to the pit was, 'When I get out, I'm going to rip you to shreds. You'll be a stain on the floor'. These vics... how I got here... he set a trap," Jill stammered, "and I walked right into it."

"Are you sure? How'd you hear about this case?" Sam asked, touching her hand lightly. Dean stiffened. 

Jill slammed her hands down on the table. "I can't believe I was so _stupid_. The details were sent to me via email. Unknown address, but I figured that it was another hunter passing along the information."

"You followed an unknown email?" Sam asked incredulously. 

"I've done it before and it’s worked out fine. Many times, actually. And, it _felt_ fine… shit, he pulled the wool right over my eyes,” Jill let out an exasperated chuckle. “I _hate_ demons.”

“What do you mean _felt_ fine?” Dean asked.

“Call it a lady’s intuition,” Jill said.

Sam looked at Dean and shrugged. “Okay, what do you know about Ish… uh, our _friend_?”

“He’s a nasty bastard,” Jill sighed, “and he’s powerful. He’s had many jobs… many faces, but he’s mostly known for making deals where the fine print is _really_ fine. Like, asking for your dead loved one to come back, and they come back as a ghost, or a zombie… and then they kill you. Demon collects and it looks like a random monster attack to hunters, or a weird ‘X-file’ to normal people.”

“And he possesses the spirit or whatever it is he brings back,” Dean said, shaking his head in disgust.

“Yeah,” Jill sighed, “How would he have got out of the pit, though?”

“Clawed his way out?” Sam offered weakly.

Dean shook his head. “Or let out.”

Jill stiffened up immediately, and slapped her journal closed. “Uh, okay. I’m going to head out to do some research. You guys go to the morgue and see what you can find out about the body or, uh, what's left of it. We’ll meet up later.”

She pulled her card out and set it on the table. Dean picked it up and studied it. “You use your real name? Why not an alias?”

“I don’t like to pretend I’m someone that I’m not,” she murmured, but her voice was tight. “See you guys later.”

She left in a hurry, and Dean looked at Sam, giving him a broad smile.

“What?” Sam asked.

Dean waved the card in his hand and wiggled his eyebrows. “I got her number,” he sang.


	3. Cat’s in the Cradle

**Notes for the Chapter:**

>  _“Be careful who you pretend to be. You might forget who you are.”_  
>  \- Unknown

Jill entered her hotel room with a sigh, her mind swimming with the day’s events. Meeting the Winchesters here was one thing, but finding out that they had tracked her old nemesis Ishtmar here, and that she hadn't been able to pick up on his presence, was troubling.  And Dean Winchester... well, she'd heard many things about him, and the first two words that had hit her when they'd finally met face-to-face were "cocky" and "wow", but now wasn't the time to let him, or anything else, distract her: taking out Ishtmar was imperative, especially since he knew what she was, especially with the Winchesters around, and especially because this time she wanted to be certain that Ishtmar would never be able to come back and play games with her again. She'd have to take extra steps to protect herself.

Jill was so lost in her thoughts that she didn’t even notice another demon sitting on the bed, watching her as she puttered about the kitchenette.

“Hello, Jillian,” he said, getting up from the bed, his voice smooth and slow like molasses, and the scent of his too-expensive cologne wafting throughout the small room and burning her nostrils. 

She whipped around to look the demon in the eye, her eyes blazing and her hand instinctively reaching for the pistol laying in front of her on the table, and then she relaxed. She turned back to the manila folder she’d set on the table, flipping it open, and set the gun down calmly. “What do _you_ want?”

“The Winchesters... _really_ , Jilly? You know that if they found out who -what- you are, they’d try to kill you immediately.”

Jill set the folder down and braced herself against the cheap table, closing her eyes and taking a deep breath. She tried to ignore the obvious concern on the demon's voice and the way that it made her skin crawl, but, she hated to admit it, he was right.

“Yeah, I know. But they’re not going to find out. I’ll work with them on this job only and then I’ll never see them again,” she replied, flipping the folder open to the crime scene photos of the most recent victim's shredded body, trying to work out in her head just _what_ kind of spirit the demon could have possessed to literally rip a human being apart like shredded pork. Ishtmar was powerful, she knew, but he'd need a powerful, angry spirit to do so much damage. Perhaps she'd have to ask the Winchesters...

“Don’t bet on it, Jilly. They’ll sniff you out faster than a dog trying to find a bone," the demon warned, cutting off her thought process, "Their angel will see right through you the minute he lays eyes on you.”

“Castiel? I’ve protected myself. He won’t be any the wiser if he shows up.”

“He’s powerful, Jill.”

“So am I. You should know that better than anyone,” she hissed at him, finally turning around to face him. She was struck by the concerned look he had on his face, but she put a mental wall up - perhaps he was feigning concern to have her put her guard down, but she wasn't about to be tricked. Not by him.

The demon raised his hands and shrugged. “Of course. But if they find out…”

“They _won’t_.”

He got up from the bed and walked up to her, his face still full of concern, and placed his hand gently on her shoulder. She winced and pulled away from him, turning back towards the folder, but keeping a keen eye on the pistol still laying on the table.

“So hostile,” he sighed, “is this any way to treat your father?”

“You’re my father by blood only,” Jill snapped, still with her back to him, “that’s all. Leave me alone.”

“I can help you,” the demon cooed, “the one you hunt is a friend. He’ll understand once I have a quick... chat with him.”

“Enough!” Jill's voice was hard and firm, and she turned to face him again. The demon shut up immediately, shrinking slightly, his eyes wide with a hint of fear. “I don’t need your help. I’ve sent your 'friend' back to the pit once before and I can do it again. _Leave me alone_.”

She snapped her fingers and the demon disappeared immediately, but not on his own accord. His warning still hung in the air, though, flitting about her head like a thousand noseeums:  _They'll sniff you out faster than a dog trying to find a bone._

"Damn it," she muttered under her breath. Now there were two demons on her trail that she needed to get rid of.

******

“Okay, thanks Garth,” Sam said, snapping the cell phone shut and turning to Dean, “well, Jill checks out.”

“What did Garth say?”

“He’s heard good things about her; really good things, actually. Every hunter he spoke to has either heard of her or worked with her. Says she’s got a reputation as a bit of a female hyena, but-“

“Wait, _what_?” Dean asked, looking up from the gun that he was cleaning.

Sam blushed. “Uh, well, female hyenas can have a… uh, well, a mock penis.”

Dean held his hand up. “Okay, say no more.”

“Uh, yeah. Other than that, she’s apparently easy to work with, and she’s got a real knack for hunting _and_ killing these things. Though apparently she knows the real definition of ‘overkill’.”

“And what about her old partner, Davida?”

Sam nodded. “That checks out, too. Davida Anderson was another very well-respected hunter. Davida and Jill were like sisters, and apparently Jill disappeared for a bit after Davida’s death and then re-emerged on her own three months ago after what she called a short ‘vacation’ from hunting. She’s mostly been working on her own since, crossing paths with hunters here and there. Garth did say something odd, though.”

“What is it?”

“I’m sure it’s nothing, but remember when Jill said she’d be able to _feel_ if our demon friend was here?”

“Yeah. What of it?”

“Apparently it's something that a few hunters mentioned; that she has this weird sense – premonitory almost - about exactly what supernatural thing that she's going to run into, almost immediately after seeing a vic or a crime scene. Not that she says it aloud, but that she’ll always seems to be perfectly equipped for whatever enemy they run into.”

“So she’s got good instincts; what’s the big deal? She's probably been doing this about as long as we have.”

Sam shrugged. “Just thought it was interesting that more than one mentioned it.”

“Well, _I_ trust her,” Dean asserted, “and we could use the help to catch our black-eyed friend, especially if she’s tangled with him before. She thinks he's setting up a trap for her, then we flip it around and set a trap for _him_.”

Sam rolled his eyes dramatically and ran his fingers through his hair roughly. He crossed his arms and leaned back on his heel, looking his brother up and down. Dean met his glance and cocked his head to the side.

“What?”

“Promise me that you won’t sleep with her,” Sam said sternly, “this case is too important for you to lose focus now.”

Dean smirked at him, but didn’t say anything.

“Dean, I mean it. You try to get in her pants, and you could jeopardize this case. Jill might help lead us to the demon, or him to us, and you said it yourself – we could use all the help we can get.”

The look that Sam was giving him looked so much like their father that Dean felt the glare beginning to crawl under his skin, and he gave his brother an exasperated look, but Sam wasn’t backing down. He met Dean’s glance and then puffed himself up, looking more like an inflated gorilla than anything intimidating, but Dean gave in to his little brother the way he usually did.

“Fine, but if you’re cock-blocking me because you’re jealous that she hasn’t looked at you the way that she looks at me, then all bets are off,” Dean said, pushing himself up off of the end of the bed, grabbing his jacket and heading for the door. He turned back and nodded at Sam over his shoulder. “I think I’m going to go check in on Jill.”

“Dean, _really_? Now you're just being a jerk.”

“Hey, you never covered the possibility that she comes onto _me_ ,” Dean said, dead serious, as he shot a quick smile back at his brother and set off out the door.

Sam shook his head in exasperation, and then walked over towards where his computer was sitting, flipping it open and sitting down hard on the chair in front of it.

“Yeah, that’s likely,” he muttered to himself.


	4. Livin’ After Midnight

**Notes for the Chapter:**

>  _To me, you're strange and you're beautiful_  
>  _You'd be so perfect with me_  
>  _But you just can't see_  
>  _You turn every head but you don't see me_  
>  \- Aqualung, from “Strange and Beautiful”

Dean opened the door and a small, audible whimper escaped his lips as Jill turned towards him. The soft light of the porch light bounced off of her soft, wavy auburn hair and illuminated the mischievous sparkle behind her eyes as she turned to smile at Dean. She was wearing an old, brown leather jacket over a black shirt and tight black jeans that accentuated her strong body in all the right places, showing off her curves right down to the pair of beat-up black Chucks on her feet. To top it all off, she had a 12-gauge slung over her shoulder and a .45 pistol strapped to her right hip, and Dean found himself wanting to play ‘where's the knife?’ with her right then and there. 

"Ah, Lara Croft," Sam quipped from over his brother's shoulder, breaking the spell, "you look like you're ready to go hunting."

Jill laughed, "You have no idea how ready. Any luck trying to find a summoning ritual?"

"Not yet," Sam answered.

"Wait," Dean interrupted, "can't we just say his name to summon him?"

"No," Sam replied, "saying his name is like sending him your GPS coordinates and he can  _choose_  to come to you. We need something a little more mandatory."

"Look, I usually don't step on toes, but I want to be the one to send this asshole back to the pit, got it?" Jill said, staring the brothers down, the sparkle in her eyes hardening immediately. “This isn’t _just_ a hunt for me; this is personal.”

Dean and Sam gave each other a look, speaking in their unheard language as their eyes met. After a few seconds, Dean shrugged and said to Jill, “You got it.”

They shut the door and went to get into the Impala, but Jill walked towards a red, ’67 Austin-Healey parked a few spots down. Dean couldn’t believe that he hadn’t noticed it before, and his mouth dropped open. “Is _that_ your car?”

Jill looked at it and then back at him and laughed, “Yeah. This is my baby: Cherry Bomb.”

“Like the firework?” Sam asked.

She gave him an amused look and shook her head slowly. “Um, no. Like The Runaways song.”

The brothers were giving her different looks: Sam was looking at her with a confused, furrowed brow, and Dean was staring at her like she was Miss November.

Jill arched an eyebrow at them and chuckled as she got into her car, “Let’s go get us a demon.”

****

As they walked through the thin pines and creaking aspens towards where the brothers had pre-emptively set up a small, run-down shack where they’d planned to trap Ishtmar and send him back to hell, Dean began to hum the tune to _My Generation_. Jill let out an amused snort.

“Want to share with the class?” Dean asked her.

She smiled and shook her head, her eyes on the ground. “You know who sings that song, right?”

Dean rolled his eyes. “Of course: The Who.”

Jill’s smile got wider. “Why don’t we keep it that way.”

“What? You don’t like my humming? Maybe we could call up Keith Moon and see if he’d be kind enough to drop us a beat,” Dean said.

Jill laughed, “Hah! I guess we could dig up his corpse and ask his spirit to reanimate for a few songs.”

“What are you talking about?”

“Uh,” Jill’s eyes darted between Sam and Dean, but there was a small smirk on her face as she bit her lip and continued, “Keith Moon is dead, Dean.”

“No.”

“Yes, he is. I re, uh… September 7, 1978. Accidental drug overdose,” Jill replied, handing Dean her smartphone, “Google it if you don’t believe me.”

Dean stared at her, wide-eyed, his mouth involuntarily gaping open. “How do you know that?”

Jill returned the stare, the smirk overtaking her face. She tenderly brushed a piece of her hair behind her ear, and Dean felt his chest tighten. “ _Who’s Next_ is one of the greatest albums of all time… I mean, other than _Physical Graffiti._ ”

Dean stopped dead in his tracks, continually gaping at Jill, his weapon hanging limply by his side. “Who _are_ you?” he whispered.

Jill threw her head back and laughed softly, “I prefer _Baba O’Reilly_ , but okay.”

Sam sighed beside them, “You guys realize that we’re _working_ , right? This isn’t Top 40.”

A branch snapped to the right of the group, and Jill whirled around, producing a knife from her sleeve. It was similar to the knife that the brothers carried.

Dean raised his eyebrows and nodded at it. “Where’d you get that?”

She brandished it fondly. “Took it off of a demon awhile back. It’s my favourite knife.”

Dean opened his mouth as if to ask her more, but stopped as they finally reached the shack. As usual they’d set up a devil’s trap for where they were going to summon the demon. As Sam readied himself, Dean watched Jill’s face change as she held the knife up and studied it as if it were a trophy. She slipped it into her belt behind her back, and seemed to recite a silent prayer to herself as Sam began the summoning.

The windows rattled and the wind picked up, blowing the dust around the abandoned home in a relative hurricane until the figure appeared in the middle of the dust. Dean charged it automatically, sending it flying into the chair in the centre of the devil’s trap, and strapped it down.

The demon struggled and cried out maniacally, but he became silent and still as the dust settled, his head whipping back and forth, and his eyes seeming to have trouble focusing. When they finally did, the demon turned his head to Jill and an evil grin that reeked of creepy recognition spread across his face.

“Ah, Jillian,” the demon hissed, “you’ve found me at last. And you’ve brought more cannon fodder: excellent.”

Jill’s demeanour had changed completely; she became dark and slightly frightening. Dean swore that the air in the shack got significantly colder, and the flames on the candles bent precariously. Her voice was laced with poison as she advanced towards the demon, and then bent down to Ishtmar and said, “You don’t recognize them, Ishtmar? These are _the Winchesters_.”

Ishtmar snorted, “I know who they are. I’m surprised to find _you_ working with them, Jilly.”

Jill narrowed her eyes and clenched her teeth, but didn’t say anything, producing her knife from where she’d tucked it into her belt. Her grip tightened visibly around the weapon in her fist, but her fist hung at her side.

The demon tilted his head and gave her another wicked smile. “Ah. I see.”

Sam was very obviously confused; his head swivelled between Ishtmar and Jill and then back to the demon. “What? What do you ‘see’?”

Ishtmar’s eyes flicked to black and he chuckled, continuing to stare at Jill. “You haven’t told them yet, have you?”

“Told us what?” Dean growled.

“Jilly’s got a little secret,” Ishtmar said in a sing-songy voice, “she-“

“Shut up,” Jill seethed, taking a few menacing steps toward him and placing the knife to his throat. “One more word and I’ll slit your throat so cleanly you won’t be able to talk.”

The demon swallowed hard, cutting his Adam’s apple on Jill’s blade. It seemed to burn him, and he jerked his head back, his face wracked with agony, but he didn’t respond to her.

Jill took a step back, looking pleased with herself, and began to recite the exorcism ritual from memory. Ishtmar began to twitch and writhe, his body contorting as she yelled the words.

“You… should just… kill me!” Ishtmar screamed at her, “I will…. AGHHH… come back… I know what you… AGH… _are!_ ”

“Stop!”

Jill stopped the ritual and looked over her shoulder at Sam, surprised. “What are you doing?” she whispered violently.

Sam ignored her and stepped in front of her, looking earnestly at Ishtmar. “What secret? What do you mean – you know _what_ she is?”

Ishtmar gave Sam another wicked grin, but he didn’t reply. He closed his eyes and took a deep breath, and the house underneath their feet began to shake. Behind them, the windows blew out, spraying sharp shards of glass all over the floor and throwing the three hunters to the ground in front of Ishtmar. Both Jill and Sam landed within the devil’s trap, and Sam turned to look at Jill quickly to make sure that she was all right, but he saw her lift herself up slowly, her hair sprinkled with glass and her face bloodied where the shards had cut her. He pushed himself up as well, and turned his head back to her, and swore that he saw her drag her hand along the outside line of the devil’s trap, cutting a bare swath to open it.

“Jill!” he screamed, pointing to where she’d opened the trap, and leaping to his feet, knife at the ready.

But Ishtmar was gone.

Sam stood in the middle of the trap, dragging his fingers through his hair, breathing heavily, and trying to sate his anger. He whipped around to see Dean help Jill to her feet, and advanced on her, “What the hell just happened?”

Dean stepped in front of him and put a hand on his brother’s chest to stop him. “Stand down, Sam. It’s not her fault.”

“It is!” Sam insisted, “She let him go! She erased the devil’s trap.”

“It was an _accident_ ,” Jill said, her voice hard and firm, “I must have erased it when I was getting up. I didn’t mean to!”

“An _accident_ , Sam,” Dean repeated, staring his brother down, “she would never have just let that asshole go.”

Sam glared at her and flared his nostrils in frustration. “We had him! This is on _you_!” he yelled, pointing an accusing finger at Jill before turning on his heel and storming out of the house.

Jill turned to Dean and gave him a sheepish look, brushing a lock of hair behind her ear. Dean felt his knees go weak as his eyes got lost in the green depths of hers. Any anger or frustration he felt over Ishtmar getting away instantly disappeared.

“I’m sorry,” she murmured, averting his gaze. “Sam’s right – this is all on me. We _had_ him… and I messed up.”

“Hey,” Dean said gently, putting a finger under her chin and lifting her face up until she met his glance. His heart hammered inside his chest, and he ignored the creeping feeling of vulnerability coursing through him, as he moved his face closer to hers. His lips were just an inch from hers, when she suddenly pulled back and placed her fingers gently to his lips, a sad look on her face. She looked up at him through her eyelashes, and shook her head.

“I-I can’t,” she stammered. “It wouldn’t be fair to you.”

“What... what are you saying?” he asked.

She kissed his cheek softly and pulled away from him. “You’ll only get hurt,” she replied, brushing by him as she walked past him out the door.

***

When they got back to the hotel, after Sam and Dean had ridden in strained silence, Sam stormed into the room without a word, leaving Dean outside.

Dean rolled his eyes and said after Sam sarcastically, “Yeah, it’s fine… you go on ahead. I’ll wait for Jill.”

Sam ignored the comment as he stepped inside the room and slammed the door behind him. He picked up his cell and immediately dialled Garth, peeking out from the curtain as he heard Jill’s Healey rumble up to the parking lot. He looked on as Dean gave Jill an ear-to-ear smile as she got out of the car and rolled his eyes, snorting disgustedly as he yanked the curtains closed.

_“Sam?”_ Garth’s voice on the other end sounded groggy. _“Wh-what time is it?”_

“Hey, Garth. Sorry to call so late, but I need some more information about Jill Shepard.”

_“Again? Why?”_

He could hear Jill and Dean speaking in low voices outside, but he went into the bathroom and shut the door anyways. “We’re hunting a demon. A powerful one. Jill’s hunted him before.”

_“And? Sam… is there a point to this story?”_

“And she messed up. We got a little tossed around and Jill erased part of the devil’s trap getting back on her feet.”

_“And?”_

“Before that, the demon was taunting her about some ‘secret’ he knew… that he knew _what_ she was. I tried to get more out of him, but he blew out the windows before I could get anything. I… dunno, Garth, I feel like she let him go intentionally,” Sam sighed.

There was a long silence on the other end until he heard Garth rustling as if he’d sat up in bed. _“Okay.”_

“Okay, what?”

_“I understand.”_

Now it was Sam’s turn to be impatient, “And?”

_“The things I’ve heard about Jill… Sam, she is the best of the best. She doesn’t just mess up; every hunter I talked to about her talked about how she works fast, quick, and near-perfectly. It don’t make sense.”_

“At least someone agrees with me.”

_“Dean’s got hearts for eyes?_ ”

“Yeah.”

_“All right. I’ll dig into her past, and see if I can get anything. If she’s allowing demons to get away, that girl is trouble, and we have to find out why.”_

Sam rolled his eyes and said, exasperated, “My thoughts exactly. Thanks, Garth.”

As he snapped the phone shut, he heard the door to their room open and close. He flushed the toilet and walked out of the bathroom.

Dean threw his jacket down on his bed, and gave Sam an annoyed look. “You got over your hissy fit, yet?”

“Uh… yeah. I’ll apologize to Jill in the morning,” Sam responded.

“Good,” Dean said. He took off his watch and then gave Sam a searching look. “You okay?”

“Fine,” Sam lied, “just tired.”


End file.
